give her my love
by harkinian
Summary: Jeff contemplates a new semester. A New Jeff. The Annie of it all.


It's the start of a new semester, and Jeff Winger is going to be a New Man. It might just be the alcohol talking, or it might be his brain, but he is going to be a New Jeff.

Not Old Jeff.

New Jeff.

New. Jeff.

He realized it late last semester, when, before an all important bio final, he was faced with the _all tomato _to end all tomatoes_—_he could either claim his rightful spot in his old life, his old job, with his old friend or save Shirley's Sandwiches and, by extent, the sanctity of the group.

He chose the latter.

And thus New Jeff was born. A newer man, a better man. Someone, for once in his life, _worthy_ of all those flirty smiles and adoring looks.

He is good now. As good as Jeff Winger can be.

Which, inevitably, leads his drunken mind to contemplate what makes a man good. Which is…

Love.

That's right. Love. That stupid, arbitrary set of four words strung together to mean something meaningless.

Lies, broken promises, broken hearts. Like he says: meaningless.

But is it really meaningless?

Jeff knows what love is. Love is his mother. Love is Sparky, who still lives with his mother. Love is 822 Green Street, where Sparky still lives with his mother.

Love is the study group. Love is Shirley, Abed, Troy, Britta, and even Pierce.

Love is Annie.

And that's what stumps him the most.

Love is Annie? What the hell, brain? What kind of connection is that to make? Yes, he's felt it for a while, this weird twinge in his heart. This weird pain that's more like an itch when he sees her. The flounce of her too-short skirts. The flip of her smells-too-good hair. Her smiles.

Ugh.

Jeff even looks it up. Love.

_Webster's Dictionary defines love as _"a: 1. A strong affection for another arising out of kinship (_no_) or personal ties (_no), _e.g. maternal _love _for a child (_ugh, definitely not_).

"2. Attraction based on sexual desire (_yes_) : affection and tenderness felt by lovers (_…_).

"3. Affection based on admiration (_for sure_), benevolence, or common interests (_indeed_), e.g. _love _for his old schoolmates (_wow, Webster's, how'd you know?_)"

These are solid definitions. Solid and immovable. He identifies briefly with them, until he sees the next entry—

"B: An assurance of affection, e.g. give her my_ love." _

It hits him then. It's an assurance he needs, an assurance he craves. An assurance of something totally intangible and invisible and unreliable and silly.

But he wants it so, so much. New Jeff _wants _this assurance of affection! Because he feels a little lost for thinking that Love is Annie, and he really just wants to scrub that thought from his brain now, but god damn it. It's stuck like graffiti, and he could cover it over with paint, but that would be dumb, _duh doy._

As a (kind of) lawyer, he knows that the truth is the truth, and he can do whatever he can to cover it up yet it will always, _always _be there. And anyone worth a damn would find This Truth and rub it in his face, and Jeff would be humiliated.

As he is by love. This love for Annie Edison.

He wishes that he had not thought about her all summer. Had not sought out her random company. Had not shared trips to the fancy ice cream parlor with the quaint decor, had not watched the Olympics on her couch, had not been filled with sudden patriotism and hugged her when the short American girl won that gymnastics competition.

He wishes he had forgotten about her because that would have been so, _so _much easier than having her fall asleep on his right arm. So, _so _much easier than having her wipe chocolate ice cream from the corner of his mouth. So, _so _much easier than having her kiss his cheek in a fond moment of farewell.

His life would be so much easier without Annie Edison. But she's here in his heart, and she's here to stay (he knows now), and New Jeff is going to let her be there.

No more excuses, no more complaints. Like his therapist said, who gives a fuck what the others think anyway?

He's going to make an attempt to open his front door. And in she will slide, if she'll have him (God knows she might not anymore; after all, she's 22 and he's _old_, ugh), and maybe she'll stay if he hasn't already run away or retreated or shoved her aside for the millionth time.

It'll be the ultimate challenge for him, one he won't mind that much, he thinks. Just don't think too much about it, or you'll chicken out and lose her for real this time. Because Jeff Winger knows that this school year is the last one, and he might just lose her forever. The group can make promises to each other that they'll remain friends, but friends drift apart. It's inevitable. And as much as he loves those idiots, as co-dependent as they have become, there is only one person among the seven of them that he irrevocably and inexplicably _needs _by his side to remind him what's right and what's wrong, to call out his bullshit, to hug him, to comfort him, to…oh boy, to _love him_.

Jeff is going to let Annie in. For once and for all.


End file.
